We get repeats from time to time. Which is really amazing considering the pool of talent we have here. But tonight, we have a repeat champion. It’s been a few weeks since he reigned supreme but this week Jeff Pfaller @pfallerj has done it again. Such a tender, sweet, and heart-wrenching tale, concocted in only five minutes.

Congratulations and well done, my friend.

Here is his winning entry:

Slap. Slap. Slap.

My fingers danced across the top my my father’s vinyl record collection. The waxy sleeves made their own music, their own rhythm.

It took me back to lazy Sundays together. The smell of fresh cut grass wafting through the screen windows of our house in Wisconsin. The twin sweaty glasses of lemonade on the porch, set ou by Mama, just waiting for us to settle into the rocking chairs.

“Ah…here it is,” he’d say, a small smile turning up at the corner of his lips. “This, sweetie, this is the song that made your mother fall in love with me.”

And my Mama would chuckle to herself in the kitchen, and start humming to herself. Busying herself about the kitchen and content with what the afternoon was. Simple.

He’d let me set the record on the player myself, a huge delight for a little girl of six.

“Where should we start it today, Daddy?” I asked.

“You know what I like to do? I like to put that needle anywhere.”


“I’ve heard this song a thousand times, sweetie. But every time it starts somewhere new, it’s like I’m hearing the music for the first time,” he beamed.

I smiled and set the needle down, having to stand on my tiptoes to see just where on the giant black expanse of vinyl the needle would land.

Then we’d sit on the porch. Listening to the song play through, sipping our drinks and watching pickup trucks ramble by the dirt road that ran by our house.


There it was. The record we listened to every Sunday. The song that made my Mama fall in love with my Daddy. The musical creation that played a part in my existence.

“Here, this is the one,” I said, and handed it to my brother.

A hand gently rested on my arm. It was my husband, looking as handsome as I’d ever seen him. The way a man should look on our wedding day.

“You sure you don’t want me to dance with you?”

“It’s O.K. This is the father daughter dance. And I’m going to dance with my Daddy.”

My husband kissed me on the forehead, and lead me to the dance floor, which held a single rocking chair.

I sat. The song started after the first verse. I could almost hear my Daddy sigh. “Ah…this is my favorite part.”

I closed my eyes and listened, feeling him looking down at me from somewhere up in the heavens. It was like I was hearing the music for the first time.